Dear Dear Diary
by HollidayMourner
Summary: Francis has something on his mind during the World Meeting, and the foolish man thinks no one else knows. Everyone knows. Him and Arthur have a history. That's just how things go around here. Please R&R (sorry the summary sucks). I do not own anything but the plot. Rated T for language.


**A/N: This is the first story I've written in a while, and I realize that I had all but abandoned another story I was working on for a little bit. I'm terribly sorry about that. I lose inspiration quite often, and when I get it back it's difficult for me to pick up on an old story. I usually only work on short stories for that very reason, but I'm trying to get back into my writing vibe so this is my attempt at that.**

 **I originally wanted this to be one shot. Then I thought about it a decided to turn it into a small little story. There will only be like... 3 chapters? Maybe 2? I'm not 100% sure yet, but I am currently in the middle of writing the second chapter so we will see how that goes.**

 **Let me know if you guys like this, and if you do please don't forget to leave a review and favorite. Every little thing helps with motivation. Anyway, enjoy! :)**

I nibble on the tip of my pen as I watch him from across the table. There isn't much distance between us, but I want him closer. I can't smell his musky scent or feel the warmth emanating from his body. Sure, I am able to imagine all of the parts about him I adore, but it isn't the same as actually experiencing them.

I want him. Terribly so.

His numerous rants and lectures are tedious, but it's the way his mouth moves that compels me to listen. The soft curve of his lips contrasts greatly with the harsh tone of his voice. His words are cutting, sometimes cruel, but if I watch his lips form those biting words, I can forget how toxic he really is for me.

I look down at my paper as he takes his seat beside me, shielding it slightly from his view. His name is scribbled all over the paper; it's almost embarrassing.

"Trying to hide your incompetence from me, frog?" He snarks. "Don't even bother – I already know."

My heart constricts; I _really_ fucking hate that name. "Actually," I counter, lowering my voice so only he could hear me, "I was just finishing up my letter confessing my love to you."

Arthur's barking laughter earns us both a stern "shush" from Germany, who is up next to speak. Face red, Arthur turns more towards me, leaning even closer. "Even if I believed you, I would still laugh. This isn't a Jane Austen novel; love letters don't win people over."

I shiver at the feel of his breath as it rushes against the skin of my neck and upper jaw. His voice is so low, so husky, it takes every ounce of self-control I have to swallow the groan that had made its way to the tip of my tongue. I can almost taste my desire for him.

I don't turn my attention away from him until he straightens back up and turns his attention back towards the meeting, and even then, my body is still hyper-aware of how close he is to me. This is what I had wanted so bad that entire hour he had been up speaking. I can smell the musky scent that always seems to cling to him. I can feel the warmth from his body, can almost imagine hearing the slow, steady beating of his heart.

My throat closes as my senses are overloaded with the essence of him. The rest of the meeting passes in an excruciatingly slow blur.

* * *

I am the last to leave the conference room. Arthur had been the first. My papers are still spread out before me, my most recent diary entry the first on the pile. I sigh as I begin to gather everything up. I don't think today went very well for me.

On the walk back to my hotel room, I think about the interaction between Arthur and me. I hadn't thought of it at the time, but Arthur had seemed much more hostile than usual. His eyebrows were stitched closer together than normal, his jaw unusually set. I don't think it was because of me, but I glance down nervously at my stack of papers anyway.

When I reach my door, I notice a piece of bright paper taped over the peep-hole. The words "YOU'RE INVITED!" are stamped across the majority of the paper in an obnoxious font. Alfred's name adorns the bottom of the paper, announcing that he is the one hosting the party.

 _Which means Arthur will definitely be attending_ , I think sourly as I rip the paper down. I crumble it up in my hand, tossing it aggressively into the corner of the room as I step through the door.

A cough catches my attention.

Alfred is perched on the edge of my bed, his hands clasped on his lap. HIs glasses reflect the light from the hall, masking his eyes.

"How did you get in here?" I ask, my voice full of surprise instead of the aggravation I was feeling. The last thing I need is to see Alfred more comfortable in my space than I am.

I set my pile of papers on the corner of the island as I make my way farther into the room. Alfred remains as still as he was when I had first walked in as he watches me approach. A smile begins to spread across his lips.

"That doesn't matter. What matters is the _reason_ I'm here." Alfred stands, unfolding his hands and reaching towards the pocket that is sewn into the breast of his shirt. He pulls a piece of paper out, folded neatly into a little square. With a flick of his fingers, the paper is gone from his hand and smacking into the center of my chest. I manage to catch it before it hits the ground, but my eyes remain glued to Alfred.

"You don't have to open it, of course," Alfred says. He shrugs. "It's another invitation to my party, and it looks exactly like the one that I taped to your door. I just felt that giving it to you personally was friendlier."

I scoff. "Since when did you care about being friendly?" I toss the folded piece of paper away, only turning my attention away from Alfred long enough to watch as it glides to the floor.

I hear Alfred sigh, and when I turn my attention back to him, he was cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief he must have pulled out of his breast pocket. When he puts them back on, he grins at me. "Since tonight is the night I will be taking away the only person you care about more than yourself."

"I don't know what you mean," I counter defensively. I can tell by the twitch of Alfred's lips that he knows I am lying. I know exactly what he means.

Alfred tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, locking eyes with me as he begins to make his way toward the door of the hotel room. When he gets next to me, he stops walking and leans in closely. When he speaks, there is acid in his tone. "Arthur has always loved me more than you; that's why he left you. If you come to the party tonight, you'll finally be able to see that."

When Alfred steps away, my body is filled a dread so cold it freezes my bones. His obnoxious personality usually only ever irritated me. Now it boils my blood.

The door to the hotel room shuts with an audible click.

My heart is beating wildly in my chest. I stand rooted to my spot until I can no longer hear the rushing of my blood in my ears. My heartrate slows as I take deep breaths, my jaw clenching and unclenching as I imagine every possible way tonight could go.

"I'm not going," I decide. Maybe Alfred won't go through with whatever convoluted plan he thinks will work if he sees that I am not there. It's a long shot, and obviously I'm still going to drink away the miserable feeling that had settled in my heart, but it's a shot I am willing to half-heartedly cling to.

I turn towards the kitchen, a headache growing in the back of my head as I make my way towards the dry bar. My wine is tucked away neatly in a cabinet towards the bottom.

The party invitation is visible out of the corner of my eye. The crumbled paper sits in a corner of the kitchen. Setting my glass of wine down on the counter, I make my way across the kitchen and pick up the paper. I unfold it with care, my fingers barely gripping the edges of the paper.

Alfred's name is the first thing I read. His name in yet another obnoxious font, adorning the entirety of the bottom half of the page. I wonder how many people are going to show, how many people he actually invited.

My lip curls in disgust. I wish he could just leave things alone. I wish he could just leave _me_ alone. I crumble the paper back up, this time tossing it into the trash can as I make my way out of the kitchen. I sit on the couch, my wine glass balanced perfectly in the palm of my hand as I imagine how much fun Arthur would be having at the party Alfred had thrown to remove him from my life forever.


End file.
